


Pull Yourself Out of this State, Dear

by splot



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: EDI is crew momma, F/M, Implied Self-Harm, Mid-Post Arrival, PTSD, Some violence?, Why can't I let my Shepard be Happy? my new children's book coming out late April, descriptions of a PTSD episode, idk i feel like arrival should've affected shepard a whole lot more
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-06
Updated: 2017-04-06
Packaged: 2018-10-15 09:55:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10554356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/splot/pseuds/splot
Summary: "Consequences of this..." Mordin shakes his head. "Not going to be good."Joker scoffs, replacing his cap with a slight snarl at the Salarian. "She just caused the death of an entire Batarian colony, no shit the consequences aren't going to be good. The whole galaxy is going to crucify her.""Not consequences for galaxy." Mordin shakes his head, as if talking to a child, and Joker really wants to punch the guy. He likes him well enough, but sometimes... "Consequences for her. Humans diagnose as Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Survivor's guilt, more universal term. Will need friends by her side."Oh. Joker's anger deflates, and he nods, hobbling back to his seat. "Take us somewhere quiet, EDI. And monitor the Commander's vitals for me, would you?"--Shepard deals with the consequences of the Project.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own mass effect if I did I probably wouldn't-- no that's a lie I'd still put my shepard into situations where she's being tormented because I like having my heart tangoed on. Title from [Brother by Matt Corby.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_W9ewqSjkKk)

**02:03:05:15**

“How long would it take to activate the Project?” Shepard’s running through scenarios in her head, wondering exactly how many strings she could pull and favours she could trade to organise a colony-wide evacuation. She’s never been a fan of the Batarians, but she’s not willing to commit genocide. “That is, if the Reapers are actually coming. You said you’d have proof. Did you get a location off the data from Object Rho?”

Kenson’s eyes are locked on Object Rho, and it’s making Shepard uneasy, fingers itching for her gun.  “Give it a moment, Shepard. It’ll give you the proof you need.”

There’s a peculiar sensation creeping over her body, a low pitched whine and dark whispers rattling around her head before everything goes black, a gasp torn from her throat as she falls to her knees. Shepard sees the Mass Relay, as she’d seen it from the window of the shuttle, dozens of Reapers at full speed straight towards it. A cry of _‘no!’_ is torn from her lips as her mind is released, resting on her hands and knees on the cold floor.

“I can’t let you start the Project, Shepard.” A prickling feeling tingles down her spine as Kenson speaks, and Shepard’s head snaps around, noting with dread the gun pointed at her head. _Indoctrinated. Kenson—this whole bloody station, they’re all indoctrinated._ “I can’t let you stop the arrival.”

She’s aware of boots thumping into the room as she attempts to stand on legs weak as a newborn. It takes a second attempt before she slowly rises, and she knows she has to act fast. Quick as lightning, Shepard grabs Kenson’s wrist, twisting it back with enough pressure to dislocate her shoulder and make her drop the gun, tossing her to the side as she arms herself for the small army descending on the room. She tries to fire subduing shot after Kenson, but Object Rho is messing with the targeting on her visor, and the door slides shut after Kenson.

No amount of biotics and thermal clips overpower the almost endless wave of soldiers, and she loses track around the fifth wave. That cold prickle of dread slides down her spine again, vision black at the ends before flashing red and—

Nothing.

Nothing but a voice that sends fear running down her spine.

“ _You shall be the first to witness our arrival._ ”

And Shepard succumbs to the darkness that threatens to swallow her whole.

* * *

 

The scientist had been awfully self assured behind the screen, despite seeing a dazed and drugged prisoner in standard issue military underwear take down two heavily armoured and armed guards. Shepard sways on her feet, swiping her arm across her bleeding nose where one of the guards had managed to get a hit in, blood smearing across her arm and face. She imagined the look on her face, blood-smear and righteous anger, must have been a sight, because the scientist stepped back, as though she could reach through the glass and rip her to shreds. Instead, Shepard walks around, trying to find anything that could get her out. She needed to warn the Batarians, needed to get the Project activated. Her eyes fall on the mech control panel and she lets out a smug scoff at the Scientist’s desperate command for her to get away from the panel. She’s just found her way out.

* * *

 

**00:01:56:52**

She’s been in that prison— _next to Object Rho_ —for two days. She has an hour to organise an evac and get this relay _destroyed._

“Right. I can deal with this. I’ve worked with less.” She mutters, more to herself than anyone else.

She feels guilty, gunning down scientists and military personnel alike—they’re indoctrinated, only doing what Rho wants them to. But there’s no other way.

* * *

 

**00:01:48:49**

Estimated 304 942 casualties if she goes ahead with the Project.

Estimated billions if she doesn’t.

Shepard’s fists clench, hovering over the panel. Her heart twists something horrible as she hits the activation sequence, and as soon as the VI acknowledges the success, she pulls up the system-wide communications instead.

“Alert: All colonists living in the Bahak System: This is a red alert: begin immediate evacuation of all colonies. You have one hour before the Mass Relay blows and decimates this entire system. You must _evacuate immediately_ —“

“Shepard, no! Do you have any idea what you’ve done?!” Kenson’s face appears on the screen, and Shepard’s fists clench. “You leave me no choice. If we can’t stop this asteroid, it must be destroyed!”

The VI responds with Kenson’s location, and Shepard doesn’t hesitate to gun her way to the reactor core, activating the coolant system as she goes.

Kenson is too far gone, genuine grief in her voice as she mourns that she’ll never witness the Reapers’ Arrival. As terrible as it is, Shepard is glad Kenson chose to take her own life. If she made it off the rock, she’d not have to lie to Hackett about killing her. Even if the resulting explosion knocks her out.

* * *

 

**00:00:28:59**

Shepard can’t have been out for more than ten minutes, but she wakes to the dull voice of the VI proclaiming imminent collision. The communications system is too damaged for her to contact the Normandy, and she clambers up to the roof as quick as she can.

The last shuttle takes off as soon as her boots hit the rooftop, but what fills her with dread is that there seem to be no other ships than the Project’s escape shuttles heading for the Relay. Shepard can only hope that the Batarians had already evacuated as she taps at the com system with one hand, the other pushing suppressing fire out at the remaining soldiers. There’s a burst of static before it clears, and she opens a channel to the Normandy.

“Shepard to Normandy. Joker, do you read me?”

If there’s a reply, it’s lost to her at the holograph of a Reaper descending on the landing pad. In some sort of insane trance, Shepard steps forward towards it, Harbinger’s voice echoing around her and rattling her brain.

“Shepard. You have become an annoyance. You fight against inevitability. Dust struggling against cosmic winds. This seems a victory to you. A star system sacrificed—“ Shepard flinches at that. Despite the words, hoping against hope that the Batarians had already evacuated. “But even now, your greatest civilisations are doomed to fall. Your leaders will beg to serve us.”

“Maybe you’re right.” A hysteric laugh titters forth, and she shakes her head. She has no illusion about this being a victory. This is far from it. “Maybe we can’t win this. But we’ll fight you regardless, just like we did Sovereign. Just like I’m doing now. However _insignificant_ we might be, we will fight, we will sacrifice, and we will find a way. That’s what humans do.”

“Know this as you die in vain: Your time _will_ come.” Harbinger is unimpressed with her words, but no longer seems interested in listening. “Your species _will_ fall. Prepare yourselves for the arrival.”

“Commander Shepard, Normandy inbound for pickup.”

The vision dissipates and sound comes back, vision other than the golden glow. The Normandy zooms into view, and Shepard realises with a start how close the relay is. She starts in a run, waving her arm at the Normandy as she does. “Roger that. Whatever you do, don’t stop, open the airlock but don’t stop _do not stop!_ ”

“Airlock opening.” Joker sounds confused over the com, but she doesn’t have time to reassure him as she takes a risky leap into the open airlock, banging the door twice, gauntleted hand heavy enough for Joker to hear.

The decontamination protocols almost take too long as she peels off her helmet, squeezing through the opening as soon as the door begins to slide, making for the cockpit and holding onto the back of Joker’s chair. “Get us out of here, Joker, get us out of here _now!_ ”

Joker, bless him, doesn’t hesitate, and Shepard stays only long enough for the relay to activate before running down the CIC, past her bewildered crew to come to an abrupt halt at the galaxy map.

The relay they’d just exited through blinks and wavers on the map, and after a moment, disappears entirely. Quiet murmuring erupts around the CIC, Chambers stuttering beside her.

“I don’t—did the relay just disappear? What—“ The Yeoman seems at a loss for words, and Shepard holds her breath.

“Did any Batarian evac shuttles go through the relay?” She asks, and the CIC falls quiet. Shepard asks again, louder, more desperate. “ _Did anyone make it_?”

“Three alliance shuttles and Normandy, Commander Shepard.” Edi is almost hesitant to answer, and Shepard expels her breath, eyes fluttering shut. That number brands itself on the back of her eyelids.

**304 942. 304 942. 304 942. 304 942.**

There are a few people around her, saying her name, asking if she’s okay, but all she can hear is her heavy breathing, staring at that spot on the map where the relay had been. In a movement so quick it causes the middling crowd to jump apart in fright, Shepard launches her helmet at the wall with an agonised cry torn from her throat, biotics wildly out of control and putting enough force behind the throw that the helmet shatters on impact.

Joker makes to take a step forward, before being held back by Mordin. It's unknown how Shepard is perceiving them at the moment, but he is probably the last person that should be attempting to push through to the wild biotic, breathing heavily--staring right at him but clearly seeing something else.

Joker doesn't see the danger. He sees his best friend. His best friend who's just had to make a decision that will weigh her down until it crushes her. And so he flaps his arms at the gathered crowd, "Move along, knuckleheads, don't you all have something to do? Keep going, that's it, nothing to see here."

It works, the crowd dissipating, though the murmurs continue, discussing the implications of what they'd just witnessed. Joker takes a tentative step forward, hand raised towards Shepard, Mordin shadowing his movement.

It's as if she snaps back into herself, but as her eyes lock onto his he can almost feel the crushing grief emanating as it weighs down on her soul. It sends a shiver down his spine, and his heart aches for his oldest friend. It seems like an hour before she breaks contact, dodging his hand and stepping past him into the elevator.

His shoulders slump, and he takes off his cap to run a hand through his hair.

"Consequences of this..." Mordin shakes his head. "Not going to be good."

Joker scoffs, replacing his cap with a slight snarl at the Salarian. "She just caused the death of an entire Batarian colony, no shit the consequences aren't going to be good. The whole galaxy is going to crucify her."

"Not consequences for galaxy." Mordin shakes his head, as if talking to a child, and Joker really wants to punch the guy. He likes him well enough, but _sometimes..._ "Consequences for _her._ Humans diagnose as Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Survivor's guilt, more universal term. Will need friends by her side."

Oh. Joker's anger deflates, and he nods, hobbling back to his seat. "Take us somewhere quiet, EDI. And monitor the Commander's vitals for me, would you?"

* * *

 

Shepard had arrived back nearly four hours ago, to Garrus' immense relief. She'd been off the grid for two days, and he'd never admit it out loud, but the thought of not knowing where she was or if she was alive scared him. The reasons why it scared him scared him even more.

He'd heard what happened and had rewatched the security footage of the moment she'd arrived more than once. She was angry. He'd not gone up right away, giving her time for Chakwas to run her medicals and for Shepard to clean herself up and have a few quiet moments before going to check on her.

They hadn't really defined what they were. After that frankly magical night before the Collector base, he wasn't sure where they stood. She was more affectionate, more willing to touch and lean against him but the way she spoke and acted was as though nothing had happened between them.

Still, after what she'd been through, he was more than happy to be there for her, whether as a friend or...

The alternative sets a happy thrum in his subvocals, but he quickly tamps it down. No point getting his hopes up.

Garrus has already stripped his armour for the day, comfortable enough with the crew to be in his civvies. It says something about this human crew and their inexplicable need to get along with anyone they meet. He shakes his head with a low chuff of laughter, and is just about to lock up the battery console and head to the mess when EDI chimes in.

"Officer Vakarian, you are needed in the Captain's cabin." It could just be his tired state, but EDI sounds concerned. He stretches his arms above his head, shoulders popping as he yawns.

"Does Shepard need me now or does she mind holding out five minutes so I can pick up some food for us?" He asks, expecting her to relay the question. The AI is silent, but it doesn't feel like when EDI is passing on communication. The silence has a hesitant air to it that permeates the room and has Garrus tilting his head at the AI's Avatar.

"Shepard… did not request your presence, Officer." EDI speaks after another moment, and Garrus' brow creases. "I am... _concerned_ for her welfare. I believe your presence is necessary."

"I don't understand." His mind moves sluggishly with exhaustion. "Why are you concerned?"

"Jeff asked me to monitor the Commander's vitals. I am detecting multiple injuries that require immediate medical attention." That has him standing up straight, confusion writ across his face.

"Didn't she go and see Chakwas when she arrived?" He asks, and if the AI had hands to nervously wring, he'd suspect she would be.

"My initial scans of her injuries upon arrival consisted of a burst lip, a sprained ankle, various deep bruises and some scratches." EDI says, although it doesn't answer his question, but gives way to a new one.

"They don't sound so bad. Why contact me now? And why not medical personnel?"

The AI pauses, and if he didn't know any better, he'd say she was hesitating. "There are additional injuries that were acquired within the confines of the cabin. I am reading an elevated heart and breath rate, and her brain waves indicate that she is in a hyperaware state."

There's a sinking feeling in his chest, and his fingers curl tightly around the edge of the console. He doesn't need the confirmation, he knows already, but he states it anyway.

"The new injuries are self-inflicted."

"Yes."

He's out of the door without another word.

* * *

 

"Shepard?" There's no answer when he knocks, and though the door isn't locked, he doesn't feel right barging in. "Sam? It's Garrus."

He feels silly announcing himself--there's no other Turians on the Normandy, she won't mistake his voice for someone else, but he still does anyway. There's nothing but silence in response, and he frowns. "Sam, I'm coming in."

The cabin is a mess. The mattress has been flipped clean off the bed frame, various datapads and earth books littering the floor.  The empty aquarium draws Garrus’ eye; EDI must’ve drained it when the first cracks began splintering their way across the surface. One pane had the desk chair hanging out of it. Glass crunches underfoot as Garrus steps closer to the second, and his stomach drops as he notes the blood painting the cracks that decorate the second.

Pieces of armour have been thrown around the room, cracked and scratched and dented, and the photo of Kaidan that had one adorned her desk (face down, to Garrus’ pleasure) had been thrown clean through her display cabinet. At least, that’s what Garrus assumes happened, considering the state of the models all around the floor, broken glass decorating the cabin.

A ragged breath turns Garrus’ head, and after a moment, he spots the source.

Shepard’s propped herself under the armour cabinet, facing the door, and though she’s staring right at him, he doesn’t think she’s seeing him. She’s gotten her under-armour suit as far as her hips before she’d given up, but Garrus can’t see much aside from the mottled purple, blue, yellow and green decorating her skin. Her knees are pulled to her chest, hands resting outstretched over the top of them. They’re shaking violently, red blood _drip-dripping_ onto the carpet. Her ten fingers are bent at odd angles, wrists limp. He’s not an expert in human, but Garrus is pretty sure human hands aren’t supposed to look like that.

He understands the blood smears on the glass, walls and desk now.

“EDI, have Mordin and Chakwas prep the medbay, and clear the mess.” He murmurs quietly, and though the AI doesn’t acknowledge, he sees the blue orb flash once in the corner of his eye before disappearing.

Instead, he takes tentative steps forward, seven feet of lithe Turian muscle folded small as he lowers himself to the ground. He’s glad he’s in his civvies and not his armour, for fear of startling her into a frenzy.

“Shepard?” His voice is soothing, quiet, subvocals radiating peace and safety, though she can’t hear them. “Mira?”

The nickname catches her attention, and her gaze locks on him. He notices the blood dried under her nose and across her face, as though she’d smeared it in an attempt to wipe it away, interrupted only by streaks of water where tears tracked her cheeks. _Spirits damn it, she was crying._ “Hey, Mira, you with me?”

It’s hard to miss the trembling of her hands, so violent do they shake. She must be in a world of pain, and she tucks them into her chest with a quiet agonized whimper as they bump one another. They still bleed, adding red to the canvas of colours that paint her body. He persists, sitting with his legs stretched to the side of her. “Sam, where are you?”

There’s a moment of quiet, and then she answers. Her voice meek and quiet and the sound of it breaks his heart. “Normandy.”

“Which one?”

“SR-2.” She seems to be out of the hyperaware state, for the most part, but the trembling extends from her hands, whole form shaking now. “Shenyang, Emden, Jakarta, Cairo, Seoul, Cape Town, Warsaw, Madrid. Kryik. Kahoku. Bakari, Barret, Chase, Crosby, Rosamund Draven, Talitha Draven, Dubyansky, Emerson, Felawa,  Gladstone, Grenado, Grieco, Laflamme, Lowe, Negulesco, Pakti, Pressly, Rahman, Tanaka, Tucks, Waaberi, Williams.”

It’s unclear, at first, what she’s listing, but the names come back. He remembered her rattling the ship names off in the face of Al-Jilani. He recognizes the names of the crew of the SR-1, Ashley Williams. She continues before he can interrupt, voice stronger but numb.

“The VI estimated three hundred and five thousand casualities before activating the Project. It was three hundred and four thousand, nine hundred and forty-two. three hundred and four thousand, nine hundred and forty-two Batarians are dead because of me.” Her tone wavers and cracks, whole body shaking. “I chose to save the Destiny Ascension. Twenty Turian Cruisers. Six thousand Turians. Eight Alliance cruisers. Nihlus. Kahoku. Twenty-two of the Normandy SR-1. Three hundred and four thousand, nine hundred and forty-two Batarians. And that’s all on me.”

Garrus is lost for words as she bows her head, frozen in place. The weight of all those souls must be crushing her, and yet she’s never once shared her burden with anyone. A streak of rage flashes through Garrus’ body—at everyone that keeps turning to her for favours and decisions, for adding to the guilt that she lives with every day, the souls that weigh her down, and they keep adding them on until one day she breaks under the weight—much like today.

But anger isn’t what she needs. She doesn’t need sympathy, empty platitudes. So he keeps himself in check and chooses his words carefully. “From what I hear, Kryik chose to run off on his own. He was betrayed by a man he called friend—his death wasn’t your fault. Neither was Kahoku’s. You had no way of knowing Cerberus would get to him. The men and women in the Alliance and Turian fleets all knew what their jobs were. They knew the risk. You can’t save everyone. The Normandy crew wasn’t your fault. It was the Collectors, and we got the bastards. The Normandy crew— _Ashley_ —they can...” He pauses, wracking his brain for the human phrase. “... rest in peace now.”

“And the Batarians? The three hundred and four thousand, nine hundred and forty-two civilians whose only mistake was living in the Bahak system? What about them?” She asks, and the numb look on her face sends chills down his spine.

“I know you, Sam. You asked if any evac shuttles made it out. Which means you sent out an evac order. It didn’t go through, or they didn’t listen. You did what you could, Mira, you did all you could. It isn’t your fault. You wanna blame someone? Blame Kenson. Blame Hackett. Blame the Alliance. But you don’t deserve the blame. You bought us time. You saved the galaxy, yet again, even if they are ungrateful. You gave us time to prepare. The ends justify the means.” Each word is chosen carefully, not wanting her to lash out at him and hurt herself even more. But she’s quiet, quiet for a long few moments, and when she speaks, her voice sounds young, small, like an exhausted child, and it breaks his heart to see his strong woman going through this.

“I’m tired, Garrus.” Hearing his name is enough to cement that she won’t lash out if he moves closer, and he takes the risk, rising to his feet before stooping to gently lift her in his arms. She whimpers as she’s shuffled, but ultimately rests her weary head on his shoulder, as he takes slow steps to the elevator. She’s trembling in his grip, feverishly warm, and all he can think about is getting her to the medbay. He still pauses, takes the time to lean down, forehead gently pressed to hers. The expression on his face is sad, as she squeezes her eyes shut tight, tears leaking out the corners. Curled small in his arms. Fragile. Vulnerable. Words that could never be used to describe Commander Shepard, but all too well described Samira, the woman nestled in his arms, in his heart, at this very moment.

“I know, my love. I know you are.” 

**Author's Note:**

> part two maybe? I'll leave it as finished for now.  
> Notes:  
> Samira is the same Shepard I had in the Thane fic, obvi AU without a relationship with Thane in this one. Romanced Kaidan ME1 (idk why. God knows why I did that friendos we have a class-A clinger there.) and Garrus ME2 for the purposes of this fic.  
> Samira is pronounced Sam-eer-ah. So when Garrus calls her Mira it's pronounced Meera.  
> I felt like Shepard's reaction should've been a lot angrier at Hackett after Arrival. Hell, there should've been more of a reaction. It just. feels really lifeless where she's got all these deaths on her but she never really truly breaks?  
> The list of ships that went down to save the Ascension is found in the interview with Al-Jilani in ME2 if you stick out without punching her (hard, I know).  
> I'm sorry I can't let my Shepard be happy.


End file.
